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Aug. 24th, 2017 08:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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everymeloveseveryyou“Does it always get this hot?” Cass wrinkles his nose.
“Only if you’re wearing a sweater,” Balthazar doesn’t look up from the boiling pot.
“You’re sweating.”
“Well, it’s worth it.”
“If I got that hot even cooking my meal,” Cass observes distastefully, “I wouldn’t be able to stomach eating it, too. I need an ice cream just watching you.”
“If you made your ice cream,” Balthazar smirks, “you’d be too cold to eat it.”
“I’m wearing a sweater.”
Touché. Balthazar looks up at Cass. “Do you want to make ice cream?”
Maybe, thinks Balthazar, he’s finally caught Cass’ interest.
Cass slowly tilts his head as he mulls it over, his heels gently tapping the cupboard under the counter he’s perched on.
“I could put anything I want in it...” he muses dreamily as Balthazar empties the pot. “Cake and cookies, chocolates, candy-”
“You could even add some ice cream,” Balthazar offers wryly.
“If you insist,” Cass shrugs haughtily. “I can put some on the cake.”
“The cake?”
“I changed my mind,” Cass hops off the counter, following Balthazar to the dining table and sliding into a chair. “I want to make a cake instead.”
“With all of the above included?” Balthazar wonders if it’s a wise point to press while he’s trying to eat like a reasonable person, especially when Cass’ smile widens dangerously.
“It’ll be the perfect cake,” he insists. “I can put everything I like in it, split between the layers. Each slice will be like a whole new cake, so we--”
“‘We’?” Balthazar cuts in, horrified. “Oh, no, no-- there’s no ‘we’ here. You and I have our, our-” he gestures at his plate, “-our own domains, and for the sake of peace they should stay that way.”
“But you like all of those things-”
“Yes, but in moderation,” Balthazar counters, “and separately.”
Cass sighs, his head slowly sinking onto his folded arms.
“Sweets are sweet because you share them with friends,” Cass mutters, looking up at Balthazar dolefully. “That’s what you always told me.”
“Ah, but--” Balthazar scrambles, his resolve slipping before Cass’ sad eyes, “Remind me, what- what was it my mother used to tell you?”
Cass scoffs, then lifts his head and squares his shoulders authoritatively.
“‘Oh, Cass’,” he recites, in his best maternal accent, “‘you can’t do that to Balthazar, he’s just a normal child’.”
“Yes, yes, thank you,” Balthazar nods. “I am a mere mortal, with mortal arteries, and I humbly beg for your mercy.”
“Your mother always told you not to be so dramatic about everything,” Cass reminds him smugly.
“My mother-” Balthazar continues loudly, “was a complex and controversial figure, and it does not do to dwell on the past. We must keep moving forward.”
“I’m going to make my dream cake.”
Balthazar snaps his mouth shut, his shoulders sagging. “I’m not getting out of this one, am I?”
“You got yourself into it,” Cass points out. “You want me to cook, but you don’t want to taste the consequences.”
Balthazar huffs, then pauses. “All right, how about this? I’ll sample your monster cake, and then you can share my dinner for once.”
“Deal,” Cass answers brightly. Balthazar stares at him.
“You tricky...” Balthazar lays down his fork and sighs deeply, his appetite overwhelmed by the coming pastry nightmare.
“I am going to die in here after all, aren’t I?”
“Only if you’re wearing a sweater,” Balthazar doesn’t look up from the boiling pot.
“You’re sweating.”
“Well, it’s worth it.”
“If I got that hot even cooking my meal,” Cass observes distastefully, “I wouldn’t be able to stomach eating it, too. I need an ice cream just watching you.”
“If you made your ice cream,” Balthazar smirks, “you’d be too cold to eat it.”
“I’m wearing a sweater.”
Touché. Balthazar looks up at Cass. “Do you want to make ice cream?”
Maybe, thinks Balthazar, he’s finally caught Cass’ interest.
Cass slowly tilts his head as he mulls it over, his heels gently tapping the cupboard under the counter he’s perched on.
“I could put anything I want in it...” he muses dreamily as Balthazar empties the pot. “Cake and cookies, chocolates, candy-”
“You could even add some ice cream,” Balthazar offers wryly.
“If you insist,” Cass shrugs haughtily. “I can put some on the cake.”
“The cake?”
“I changed my mind,” Cass hops off the counter, following Balthazar to the dining table and sliding into a chair. “I want to make a cake instead.”
“With all of the above included?” Balthazar wonders if it’s a wise point to press while he’s trying to eat like a reasonable person, especially when Cass’ smile widens dangerously.
“It’ll be the perfect cake,” he insists. “I can put everything I like in it, split between the layers. Each slice will be like a whole new cake, so we--”
“‘We’?” Balthazar cuts in, horrified. “Oh, no, no-- there’s no ‘we’ here. You and I have our, our-” he gestures at his plate, “-our own domains, and for the sake of peace they should stay that way.”
“But you like all of those things-”
“Yes, but in moderation,” Balthazar counters, “and separately.”
Cass sighs, his head slowly sinking onto his folded arms.
“Sweets are sweet because you share them with friends,” Cass mutters, looking up at Balthazar dolefully. “That’s what you always told me.”
“Ah, but--” Balthazar scrambles, his resolve slipping before Cass’ sad eyes, “Remind me, what- what was it my mother used to tell you?”
Cass scoffs, then lifts his head and squares his shoulders authoritatively.
“‘Oh, Cass’,” he recites, in his best maternal accent, “‘you can’t do that to Balthazar, he’s just a normal child’.”
“Yes, yes, thank you,” Balthazar nods. “I am a mere mortal, with mortal arteries, and I humbly beg for your mercy.”
“Your mother always told you not to be so dramatic about everything,” Cass reminds him smugly.
“My mother-” Balthazar continues loudly, “was a complex and controversial figure, and it does not do to dwell on the past. We must keep moving forward.”
“I’m going to make my dream cake.”
Balthazar snaps his mouth shut, his shoulders sagging. “I’m not getting out of this one, am I?”
“You got yourself into it,” Cass points out. “You want me to cook, but you don’t want to taste the consequences.”
Balthazar huffs, then pauses. “All right, how about this? I’ll sample your monster cake, and then you can share my dinner for once.”
“Deal,” Cass answers brightly. Balthazar stares at him.
“You tricky...” Balthazar lays down his fork and sighs deeply, his appetite overwhelmed by the coming pastry nightmare.
“I am going to die in here after all, aren’t I?”
